


All These Plans, But I Didn’t Plan on You

by PH03N1X_360



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Not Beta Read, One Shot, POV John Watson, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PH03N1X_360/pseuds/PH03N1X_360
Summary: John and Sherlock are kidnapped, and they’re out of ideas. What happens if the one who finally gets them out isn’t everyone’s favorite detective?
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	All These Plans, But I Didn’t Plan on You

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Fanfic on AO3, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

“Great. We’ve gone through plan A and plan B, what now?” I glance around the room in which we have been locked in for the past hour. My good friend is sprawled out face up on the ground beside me, looking rather bored and chewing nicotine gum. Typical.

“John, I have lots plans,” Sherlock glances up at me and scoffs. “All the way up to plan Z,” “That’s nice, but why then are we still here?” I give him a playful kick in the side and he scrambles to his feet. “I thought you needed a break from the action, you told me earlier,” he says, dodging my question with ease. That’s all I needed to know to piece together the real reason.

“You liar. You have no ideas,” I sigh and roll my eyes before taking stock of the room. It’s rather small, with a decent window. It’s bullet proof glass, though, so no luck there. Plus, we’re on the second floor. There’s two beds, one for each of us. At least our captors were kind enough to give us somewhere to sleep other than the floor, most aren’t so nice. I look back over at Sherlock. He’s pacing and muttering under his breath like trapped animal. He catches my eyes, and I see an expression of sheepish embarrassment in those usually oh-so-clever eyes. I can’t believe this is the person I fell in love with. It’s almost embarrassing, really. He’s rude, he doesn’t understand the concept of self care, he preforms gruesome experiments, but he’s gorgeous. He’s brilliant, and he really does care. He huffs in frustration and flops down onto one of the beds. I turn away to sit on the other bed.

“Might as well get comfortable,” I say, and Sherlock nods as he absentmindedly fiddles with something. My curiosity gets the best of me. “What’s that?” I ask.

“The guy who grabbed me in the first place, remember him? Hideous face, tacky sweater? He had this fascinating ring, so I nicked it. Bit of a disappointment, really. Just a loose diamond and a busted up ruby...” Sherlock yawns and I instantly get an idea. Taking advantage of his vulnerability, I snatch it from him, and he startles.

“Oi!”

“I got it! Do you remember Moriarty’s stunt at the Tower of London? We watched the tape. What did he use? A diamond, a piece of gum, and a fire extinguisher. We just need to find a heavy object!” I exclaim. It takes a moment, but slowly, Sherlock’s face lights up. He bounds to his feet and pumps a fist in the air. It startles me. He’s never like this, but I wish he was. His hair is in his face, and he’s laughing. It’s a glorious sound. In one swift motion, Sherlock crosses the room towards me, grabs my face, and presses his lips to mine.

I stand there for a minute, but only because I really wasn’t expecting it. The kiss is soft, but there’s fierce intent behind it. For a moment, he stiffens and pulls away, eyes downcast.

“Sorry,” Sherlock mutters. “I just-” I grab his face and smash our faces together. He seems to melt into my grasp and his hand reaches up and rakes through my hair. It’s wonderful. I can even taste the gum. We pull apart after a few moments due to lack of oxygen, both of us panting and grinning like idiots.

“Give me the ring, I’ll try to get the diamond out. Grab the sheets and start making a rope.” Sherlock lightly kisses my forehead, takes the ring from my pocket, and gets to work. Once I remember how legs work, I make quick work of the bedsheets and blankets, fashioning a crude yet stable rope. I hear another triumphant shout and chuckle quietly. My friend (lover? Soulmate? Significant other? Colleague? I have no idea) holds up the jewel aloft as though it’s the catch of the day. The last thing left is a battering ram of sorts, and there’s a perfectly good metal bedpost for that. It was simple in the end. Moriarty’s system works like a charm. With the glass shattered, we tie the sheet to the remaining bed and escape out the window like Victorian era lovers. As we catch a cab home, I almost want to thank our kidnappers. It’s because of them that I can’t wait to get back to Baker Street. Sherlock and I have some _catching up_ to do.


End file.
